


Protection

by ShinigamiAnateria (ShinigamiKnox)



Series: Trans!Lock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angry John, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Heading back towards John and Sherlock getting back together, John is jealous, Multi, One Shot, Past Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Trans Male Character, Trans Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinigamiKnox/pseuds/ShinigamiAnateria
Summary: This started off as a simple one-shot between Sherlock and Janine, but kind of dark towards the end. It follows up on the first part, but can be read as a stand-alone. Follows the story-line and focuses mostly on Janine's relationship with Sherlock and Sherlock's relationship with John.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in HLV, of course, and started out as a lighthearted one shot between Sherlock and Janine. Unfortunately, I may have gone a bit more into the mind palace scene than I should have and it gets a little dark. Sherlock isn't exactly suicidal, but loses his will a little bit. As mentioned in the tags, it can be read as though John and Sherlock's relationship is on the mend (at least that's what I had in mind when I wrote it). Unlike what I usually write, Sherlock is very not asexual. There may be a hint of potential Sheriarty, if you choose to read it that way, just a quick line. I think that's everything.

It had been far too long. John had insisted on not cheating on Mary, in any sense of the word, so Sherlock, upon his return, was left quite alone. The wedding, oh, the dreaded wedding, had him craving the company of another’s presence. Janine served fine for that night. Not only would she be somewhat amusing, he could impress her just as easily as he could John several years ago, by merely reading the people around them.

At first, he denied her advances without a second thought. She’d be a fantastic dance partner, but anything past that, he had little desire. Had it been a week later, he might have found himself quite interested, but that wasn’t the case.

He left that night, feeling as though he was an intruder. He couldn’t condone John's marriage, he felt irritated at Janine abandoning him despite his encouragement to do exactly that, he _hated_ the idea of being replaced by Mary and the offspring. John wouldn’t have the time nor would Mary let him be endangered for cases anymore. He felt...alone.

It was midnight when he found himself walking along an abandoned street when Janine basically stumbled into him. She had her shoes in hand and held her dress up with her free hand. She had a faint smell of perfume and alcohol, her cheeks looked about half as flushed as the color of her dress.

“Ah, Sherlock, was it?” She grinned and all but plastered herself against him. Sherlock hummed while she locked her arms around his neck.

“Janine. How did it go?”

She frowned slightly. “He would have been perfect, had it not been for the more than a few glasses of champagne,” she said with another giggle.

“Apologies,” Sherlock couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Mh, you couldn’t have possibly known.” Her gaze slid to his mouth. Normally such a direct display of attraction would turn him off completely, but she _was_ attractive, there was almost no denying that. “Did you really mean it?” she asked. “You said you were unaware of the beautiful.”

Sherlock hummed again. “I am, in a lot of cases.” He felt the silky smooth fabric of her dress under his fingertips and through his clothes where she was pressed up against him.

“I thought you were...”

“There aren’t many exceptions.”

“Does that make me special?”

Sherlock paused. “I don’t know what that makes you,” he admitted, leaning down to get a quick tasted of her soft-looking lips.

The morning after, she’d insisted that she wasn’t gay. Sherlock assured her she wasn’t before taking her for a third time since they’d met. She didn’t sound so defensive after that.

 

That had been a month ago. Originally, he thought they’d have a good time together, a couple _fantastic_ shags. It wasn’t often he was able to be with a woman. It felt _good_ to have her pliant underneath him, to penetrate her and have her keening beneath him.

Her body was soft. Her lips felt fantastic when she gently mouthed at his neck. She grabbed at his hips and scratched him at times but it made him feel good about himself in a way that he wasn’t familiar with. The month had been filled with him playing the part of the doting boyfriend. Somewhere along the line, it had crossed from mutual sex to Janine being useful to him. Truthfully, he could have continued the relationship without the sex, but it felt so good to have a straight woman praise him like she did.

A month into his so-called ‘relationship’ with Janine, John had stumbled upon their relationship. He hadn’t meant to call attention to it; she would be gone in a couple weeks, at most, and he was married and had left him. He had no right.

“Just, don’t go into my room,” Sherlock had asked, figuring Janine would sleep at least another couple of hours. He hadn’t expected the commotion to wake her up, let alone draw her out of his room, but when he heard her asking for Sherl behind the closed bathroom door, he internally groaned. Honestly, any other name would have been find, but _Sherl_? Dreadful.

Half a minute later, the bathroom was invaded by Janine, wearing only his shirt. Ah, John would have questions—Wow. Sherlock’s thoughts shifted quickly from John to how Janine looked in just his shirt. He felt his face heat slightly as she stood at the sink brushing through her dark hair. Her thighs parted and he was given a glimpse under the shirt hem. Dipping lower into the water, he tried not to look so obviously.

He knew John wouldn’t leave, yet when Janine came to the edge of the shower, he pulled her under the water, shirt and all. He knew how thin the walls were, how John would hear them, and he wasn’t the least bit discouraged in pressing her to the wall and bringing his hand down to her parted legs. Her voice was melodious as his fingers stroked her slowly, his own chest chafed against the wet fabric uncomfortably, but she was just so responsive.

 

“So, you’ve probably got questions,” Sherlock couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. John looked utterly impressed (if not, a bit jealous). Sherlock could practically see the question forming above John's head, ‘How?’

“Yeah, one or two.”

“Naturally.” Sherlock pulled his collar up under his coat.

“You have a _girl_ friend?”

“Yes, I have.” Ah, the gloating was out of the way. “Magnussen, those dead eyes, like sharks. I’ve dealt with psychopaths, serial killers, but none of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

“Yes, you have.”

“Sorry?”

“You have a girlfriend.”

“What? Yes, I’m going out with Janine, I thought that was fairly obvious.”

‘Going out with,’ synonymous with dating, a term John had never heard Sherlock use when they were together, John noted with some negative emotion. “Yes, but I mean, you. You are in a relationship?”

“Yes. I am.”

“You and Janine?”

“Yes. Me and Janine.”

“Care to elaborate?” John's tone was quickly losing the impressed, curious tone and quickly gaining the agitated tone.

“Well, we’re in a good place. It’s, um, very affirming.”

“You got that from a book.”

“Everyone got that from a book.” That didn’t make it any less true.

“Okay, you boys best behave yourselves,” Janine teased. “And you, Sherl,” she crooned as she lowered herself into his lap and welcoming embrace, “you’re going to have to tell me where you were last night.”

“Working.”

“Ah, working. Hm,” she looked towards John then back towards Sherlock with a mischievous look. “I’m the only one who knows what you’re really like, remember?”

“Don’t you go letting on,” Sherlock teased right back. He may have failed to mention his previous relationship with John, how he’d bugger him into the mattress, how he’d do the same to John. He didn’t let on to Janine just how much he enjoyed penetration at times and she didn’t ask. Even Sherlock could tell it would be a bad idea to let her in on that information for more than one reason.

“I might, just, actually.” Her pulse jumped under Sherlock’s light grip on her wrist. Even still, she turned her attention toward John with a bit of an apologetic look. “I haven’t told Mary, kind of wanted to surprise her.”

“Yeah, you probably will,” John nodded. This had to be a joke; there was no way _Sherlock_ could really...could he? Ah, did she return the favor? Did he look so lost as when John had?

“We should have you over for dinner,” Janine insisted. “But my place though, not the scuzz dump.”

It had been another little quirk Sherlock hadn’t cared for, but even Mycroft had taken to calling the place a mess. Sherlock lived alone, barely able to keep his room clean nor did he feel like cleaning when he thought about John's presence being gone. Still, he thought he did quite well for himself otherwise.

“Great!” John's voice was overexaggerated. “Dinner, yeah!”

“Oh, I’ve got to dash,” Janine said after checking the time. “It was brilliant to see you.”

“You, too.”

Sherlock got up the moment she was off his lap and saw her out the door. He’d never done that with John.

“Have a lovely day. Call me later,” Sherlock said as he held the flat door open.

“I might. Unless I meet someone prettier,” she teased him, her lips catching his own just after her nose bumped into his. Ah, her lips tasted like her lipstick but felt soft against his own. It felt odd to know John was only a few steps away; he’d tasted them both so intimately, knew what they both tasted like as they came and how their lips shaped to press against his mouth. “Solve me a crime, Sherlock Holmes,” she murmured softly. He let the soft feelings she brought about leave with her. Before the door even closed, he was turning to John and explaining the situation.

John, of course, was still caught up at dinner. Sherlock considered a small win that he made it past ‘Sherlock has a girlfriend. Sherlock is sleeping with a girl.’

“Yoo-who, didn’t you hear the doorbell? It’s been ringing,” Mrs. Hudson intruded, thankfully, before Sherlock had to explain to John exactly how he had a girlfriend.

“No, it’s in the fridge,” Sherlock said in confusion. “It kept ringing,” he explained. Specifically, when he was either in a rather compromising position with Janine or mid-case. Either way, it was distracting and needed to stop.

 

“I’ll meet you at about eight,” Sherlock called behind him. “Have some shopping to do.”

“Yeah, if I’m free,” John responded as Sherlock pulled his scarf around his neck.

“You are. I checked,” Sherlock said smugly just before the door closed between them.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how he felt about John's reaction. He felt smug about the jealousy but at the same time, it irritated him. John left him for Mary (well, to be fair, he left John first, but that was for his protection!) and married life. He had no room to talk about Sherlock’s life anymore, especially his relationships. He was being unreasonable.

It took him only a short time to get the small piece of jewelry, the rest of the day he spent planning while avoiding Mycroft’s calls. He would rather have him on a case than believing he’s turned back to drugs out of loneliness but the moment his cases got in his way, suddenly Sherlock was just his little brother who needed guidance. Besides, he wasn’t trying to take down Magnussen, as much as he would _love_ to. He merely wanted those letters back. He owed a favor to someone.

At eight, he appeared at John's door with a promise of returning him home later that night. It was amusing, somewhat, that John had no idea about Janine, supposedly his wife’s best friend, and where she worked.

When he pulled out the ring, he could see John's reaction in his peripheral. It gave him a flurry of confusing emotions that barely allowed him to keep on the innocent, loving look of Janine’s boyfriend.

John was mad. He was jealous. He was...confused. And the anger had returned. Explanations weren’t difficult. John was mad because Sherlock had told him time and time again that marriage was useless. He couldn’t possibly be high enough, couldn’t be coerced into partaking in such a sham. John had been disappointed, Sherlock noted, but hadn’t rescinded his words. He tried explaining that simply being together was enough. They didn’t need rings or a piece of paper or a ceremony of any sorts to prove affection.

He was jealous for the same reason. How come she was better than him? What did she have that he didn’t? Why did Sherlock like her better?

Confusion set in a mere moment later. It wasn’t real. Why was Sherlock doing this? Why did he need to be there for it? There’s no way this was real.

The second round of anger was protectiveness for Janine. Sherlock was intentionally hurting her and wasn’t fazed in the least. He was intentionally altering the way he normally acted, portraying this act for her just to get something from her, he must have been. Sherlock had been using her the entire time. What if he’d just been using John the entire time, too? Another thrill, another game.

“Did you just get engaged to break into an office?” John demanded.

“Yeah. Stroke of luck meeting her at your wedding. You can take some of the credit.”

John most certainly would not. This was going to break Janine’s heart and Sherlock couldn’t care less, didn’t even think for one second that playing with people like this was wrong.

“Sherlock, she loves you.”

“Yes. Like I said, human error.”

“So, what will you tell her?”

“Well, I’ll tell her our entire relationship was just a ruse to break into her boss’s office. I imagine she’ll want to stop seeing me at that point, but you’re the expert on women.” Truthfully, she’d grown boring, anyway. As much fun as they had in bed, there was only so much to be done before he got bored.

Ah, he’d been too slow. Lady Smallwood had beaten him there, he thought as he climbed the stairs. If she’d just let him do this his way...

“Is John with you?”

“He’s...”

“Is John here?” The familiar voice demanded. Sherlock was usually good under pressure, but when faced with the woman who’d somehow faked her way into their lives, into John's life, he needed a moment to process. A moment he wouldn’t be given.

“He’s downstairs. Whatever he’s got on you, Mary, let me help.”

“Oh, Sherlock, if you take one more step, I swear I will kill you.”

Ha, human error, once again. “No, Mrs. Watson, you won’t.” He processed the sound before anything else, but even that took too long to register.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. Truly, I am,” Mary said almost softly. Sherlock didn’t hear her.

“You are most certainly going to die, you need to focus.” Why her? Why is it her? Molly, less distracting, will do what needs to be done, will set aside her feelings to do so, safe. Stop wasting energy thinking about useless things, Sherlock directed himself, or rather Molly directed.

“It’s all well and clever having a mind palace, but you’ve got about three seconds left of consciousness to use it. So, come on.”

“One hole, or two?” Annoying, go away, idiot. Why you? Faith. He had faith in you. It wasn’t faith, it was guilt. He was guilty. Doesn’t matter.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Sherlock, it doesn’t matter the type of gun, don’t be stupid. You always were so stupid, such a disappointment,” Mycroft murmured in a condescending tone.

“You’re a very stupid little girl.” Ah, too far, young, before I knew, before he knew. “What was directly behind you when you were murdered?”

“The mirror didn’t shatter.”

“Therefore?”

“So we need to take him down backwards.”

“I agree. Fall now.”

Pain. Oh, so much pain.

“You’re going into shock,” Molly pointed out.

“What do I do?”

“Well, don’t go into shock. Obviously. Must be something here that can calm you down. Find it.” Getting as far away from Mycroft was a start. Focus, focus. Soft brown fur, wet nose, warm wet tongue.

“You have to control the pain.”

Ah, he hoped he’d never have to open this door again. He could stay with Redbeard, he _wanted_ to stay with Redbeard, but that would mean giving up. He wasn’t ready to do so just yet.

The unkempt room wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it wasn’t supposed to be. The man contained inside wasn’t welcoming. He, too, had been great fun. He was more distracting than Janine had ever been, oh so tempting in a way John could never be. He hadn’t strayed from John, but oh, he had _wanted_.

“You never felt the pain.”

“Oh, Sherlock, you always feel it. But you don’t have to fear it. Pain. Heartbreak. Loss. Death. It’s all good.” It’s all inevitable. He would leave you eventually, in one way or another, they all would. You will be alone. It doesn’t matter how disconnected you are to people, you will be alone.

“It’s raining, it’s pouring,” the man named Moriarty sang, “Sherlock is pouring. It’s raining, I’m crying. Sherlock is dying. Come on, Sherlock. Just die already. One little push and off you pop.” No more fighting, no more distraction, no more desire or disappointment or confusion. It’ll all be nothing. You’ve had your fun. Now, it’s best to leave for good.

He couldn’t tell the difference, who was saying what anymore. Background voices could be heard, all contradicting one another, encouraging, discouraging, picking at him, teasing him. Freak. Fantastic. Stupid. Brilliant. Give up. Don’t.

“You’re going to love being dead, Sherlock,” Moriarty said above the other voices. “No one ever bothers you. Mrs. Hudson will cry. And Mummy and Daddy will cry. And the Woman will cry and John will cry buckets and buckets.” He’ll get over it, just like last time. He’ll go on living his life, his ordinary life. I’m just a blip, I don’t matter, he doesn’t need me.

“It’s him I worry about the most. That wife of his... You’re letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger.”

If she is capable of killing you, she can and will kill him. He doesn’t know, you have to tell him. He _does_ need you. He needs you above anyone else.

“Oh, you’re not getting better, are you?” Moriarty continued teasing. “Was it something I said?” Ah, that’s what it took. Just one ordinary man needed him. One ordinary man had shone a light on his otherwise dark days and while that light had dimmed without his presence, it hadn’t been left him completely. Death was _boring_.

Oh, it hurt. That pain was the worst pain he’d ever felt. Nothing would ever hurt like this.

 

Morphine had kept him quite out of it for a while. The pain was dulled but so were his senses. When he finally came to in a somewhat coherent state, Janine had been in the seat next to his hospital bed and the pain stabbed through his chest. Ah, so she wanted him lucid.

“I’m buying a cottage,” she announced. “I made a lot of money out of you, mister. Nothing like revenge for profit.”

“You didn’t give these stories to Magnussen, did you?”

“God, no. One of his rivals, he was spittin’.” She was a pleasant enough person and she had every right to be upset with how he treated her. Still, Sherlock thought, she couldn’t wait until after he was out of the hospital?

“Sherlock Holmes, you are a backstabbing, heartless, manipulative bastard.”

“You, as it turns out, are a grasping, opportunistic, publicity-hungry tabloid whore.”

“So, we’re good then?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You might want to restart your morphine. I might have fiddled with the taps.”

“How much more revenge are you going to need?”

“Just the occasional top-up. Must be a dream come true for you. They actually attach the drugs _to_ you.”

“Not good for working.”

“You won’t be working for a while, Sherl. You lied to me, lied and lied.”

“I may have exploited the fact of our connection.”

“Listen, I have to go. I have an interview I haven’t made up yet.” She looked at him. He most certainly wouldn’t beg her not to out him as trans. She certainly wasn’t going to, no matter how much was offered. She did have some respect for him. The look she gave him seemed to convey that idea and he most certainly didn’t breathe a inwardly sigh of relief. “Just, one more thing. You shouldn’t have lied to me. I know what kind of man you are. We could have been friends.” ‘You didn’t have to do this alone,’ she’d basically told him. He didn’t know how else to do things.


End file.
